Mexican Realism
By Tom Sietsema
Washington Post Magazine
Sunday, Aug. 5, 2001
Let's applaud Guajillo for what it is not: Mexican Lite.
You know the kind of pretender I mean. Pinatas and neon are the props of choice in a room pumped up with mariachi music. From the kitchen typically come chips
born in a factory, salsa out of a jar, and a thick quilt of cheese on every entree. It all gets chased back with chemical-tasting margaritas.
Such a spot might be fun in a Disney kind of way, but frustrating if you're in the mood for realism. Tucked into a small shopping strip and not quite a year old, Guajillo (pronounced wa-hee-yo) keeps its distance from most of the competition. Even its name is different, referring not to some evocative pinpoint on the map but to the burgundy-colored chili pepper whose agreeable heat lends zip to many Mexican soups and sauces, including some of those offered here. The kitchen passes an early litmus test with its basket of chips, which are warm, thin and delicate, and served with a bowl of dusky salsa that keeps taste buds at attention with its gentle but persistent waves of heat and spice.
More than once at Guajillo, I've found myself surrounded by tables of Mexicans, including staff members of the Mexican Embassy, who appeared delighted to be dining here – a good omen, I've learned over years of restaurant-hopping, and often helpful in finding an ethnic menu's strengths. One of this menu's is queso fundido, a simple appetizer of melted manchego cheese strewn with velvety poblano peppers, softened onions and mushrooms, scooped up with tortilla chips. Also frequently sighted on the tables here is seviche, in this case shrimp "cooked" in the juice of both lime and jalapeno and nestled with ripe avocado, tomato, red onion and cilantro in a big goblet. Every bite transports me to a faraway beach. Still another crowd-pleaser are the tacos, fashioned from thick, house-made tortillas and offered with a choice of fish (fried, unfortunately), chicken, beef tongue, pork or teasingly spicy chorizo. A taco is part of the $8 sampler, an appetizer assortment that also includes a comforting chicken-filled tamale; a couple of fried, rolled and potato-stuffed flautas; and bright, buttery guacamole.
Fajitas, enchiladas, burritos – the standing menu offers plenty that is familiar and pleasing, yet I tend to gravitate toward the more ambitious list of daily specials. That's where I got acquainted with
Guajillo's carne Azteca, ropy strips of beef in a razor-sharp chipotle pepper sauce, supported by luscious, inky black beans and oiled white rice. Bright orange shrimp, spiked with garlic and
guajillo, made a fine impression, too. A good mole is hard to find; the sauce here is a dark, richly textured weave of ground pumpkin seeds, nuts, plantains, toasted bread and a whisper of chocolate.
Too bad it was wasted on stringy chicken the night I caught its act.
Small and personal, Guajillo feels like a place that is family-owned, which it is. Co-owners Rolando Juarez and his wife, Karen Barroso, supervise the dining room. Behind the scenes are her cousins, Julio Cortes, the lead chef, and his brother, Abel.
This quartet keeps the restaurant relatively free of cliches. Dishes garnished with cheese get only a light crumble of slightly salty queso enchilado, and sauces avoid the one-size-fits-all approach: Sauteed scallops are enhanced with a cilantro-punched green tomatillo sauce, while a trio of shrimp enchiladas arrives with a pale green cream sauce that tingles with poblano chilies. Guests sit in deep chairs of cowhide and wood surrounded by cinnamon-colored walls and beneath a pressed-tin ceiling painted to resemble the sky. The sound system plays music that you might actually hear south of the border. And from the small bar, outfitted with a half-roof and a cow horn crafted from copper, flows sangria that nicely balances fruit with wine, as well as mojitos, rum cocktails tempered with fresh mint. I didn't have the fortitude to delve into the nearly 20 tequila options, but I can report that the margaritas, my favorite companion to this cooking, show up generous and tangy. As for dessert, you can count on a good flan and even better sopaipilla, light shards of fried dough drizzled with honey and hard to resist.
This pretty picture is occasionally smudged by such details as a lackluster vegetable tortilla soup (uh, how am I supposed to eat that half-ear of corn sitting in the bowl?), dry rice or harried service. On a busy night, you might have to remind a waiter about a beer that's missing in action or beg him not to snatch your half-eaten food from the table – three times.
If noise bothers you, plan to dine early, along with the young families that tend to show up before Brokaw, Jennings and Rather sign off. Thereafter, the volume rises in the open room like a souffle, quickly and steadily – a small issue, perhaps, in a restaurant that offers a welcome reprieve from so much stimulation.
1727 N. Wilson Blvd.
Arlington, VA 22209
Phone: 703/807-0840
Post restaurant critic Tom Sietsema applauds Arlington's Guajillo for what it is not: Mexican Lite. Writes he, "Dishes garnished with cheese get only a light crumble of slightly salty queso enchilado, and sauces avoid the one-size-fits-all approach: Sauteed scallops are enhanced with a cilantro-punched green tomatillo sauce, while a trio of shrimp enchiladas arrives with a pale green cream sauce that tingles with poblano chilies."